


A Shift in Perspective

by zoundsmann



Category: Gravity Falls, mystery trio - Fandom
Genre: Drama, General Shenanigans, Light Angst, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mystery Shack, Mystery Trio, Mystery Trio AU, Original Mystery Twins, Sharing a Bed, Some Fluff, Some Humor, mystery trio timeline, roadtrip of sorts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-02
Updated: 2015-11-27
Packaged: 2018-04-02 12:14:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4059607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zoundsmann/pseuds/zoundsmann
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stanford Pines has gone missing overnight. Stanley has an idea of where he may be, but he'll need the help of his brother's new assistant to get him back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. SNAFU (Situation Normal, All Fucked Up)

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there, It's my first time posting, so hope you enjoy. Took some liberties with the social structure of the time, but that'll come into play later on. That's basically it from me, and obviously these characters are not mine and I do not own them in any way, so just enjoy the ride!

     Stanley should have known better. When his brother had called him, saying that he had made a series of discoveries and needed his help, he shouldn't have picked up and gone to Oregon at the drop of a hat. But here he was, leaning against his car, completely lost in some "middle of nowhere" town with no map and no money. He dug a half crushed box of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket, regretting that he still had them and yet considering smoking one anyway. Maybe while he was at it he could find a map somewhere in this god forsaken town.   
     Before he even had the chance to move, a man came bursting out from around a corner and slammed directly into his chest. Stan lost his breath for a moment, staring down at the person.  
     He was a full head shorter than Stan, with wide eyes behind small glasses and light brown hair flying in every possible direction. He seemed equally as shocked as Stanley to be pressed against his chest, but spared no time before saying,  
     "Help, I need help! They're coming! Can't let them see me!"  
     Stan saw the silhouettes of several large men barreling down the alleyway and quickly tossed the smaller man against his car, shielding him with his body while acting as of they were kissing rather intimately.   
     The sound of footsteps thundering down the sidewalk alerted him of when to stop, at which point he stared firmly at the man,  
     "What the hell was that?"  
     The shorter man was blushing deep red now, looking up at Stan in surprise,  
     "I...I could ask you the same..." He huffed out a nervous laugh, but was met by Stan's unamused expression, "Uh, yes well I...I got into a spot of trouble is all..."   
     "Right, that was pretty clear. _How_."   
     "I just built a machine recently that went a bit um...haywire, and it may have scratched one of their motorcycles."   
     Stan raised an eyebrow,  
"Ooookay...listen, while you're still here, you know where Stanford Pines lives? Should be some sort of cabin in the woods or somethin'."  
     The other man cocked his head to the side, back still pressed against the car,  
     "Well as a matter of fact I do know where he lives, I received a phone call from Mr. Pines last week, I'll be working for him starting tomorrow morning."  
     "You're working with him? Doing what, building machines that destroy motorcycles?" He teased. The other man blushed again, crossing his arms,  
     "Of course not! That's just...an unfortunate side effect! Anywho, why do you need to find him? He mentioned on the phone that his work is very private and is to remain--"  
     "I'm his brother." Stan smirked at the man's shocked expression and the string of apologies that followed, "So do ya wanna show me where he lives in this hell hole, or would you rather go find those guys and hear their complaints about their bikes?"  
     "The uh...the former would be nice." He quickly got into the passenger seat, giving Stan the first set of directions.  
     They drove in uncomfortable silence for several minutes before Stan cleared his throat,   
     "So uh...are you, y'know, ok? You seemed pretty freaked out before." He didn't take his eyes off the road, unwilling to make eye contact during such a sensitive question. The other man nodded, adding,  
     "Oh yes, I'm alright, just rather shaken up. Thank you again for your er...unique means of assistance."  
     Stan gripped the wheel tighter,  
     "What i-it was the only thing I could think of at the last minute!"  
     "No, there was nothing wrong with it!" He laughed, "But you must admit it was different."  
     Stan relaxed slightly, taking a left onto a dirt road, as was indicated by his passenger,  
     "So you got a name?"  
     "Fiddleford McGucket, and you are?"  
     "Stanley."  
     Fiddleford glanced at him,  
     "How interesting. Stanley and Stanford that's--"  
     "Yeah yeah, it's weird. That's what you get when your folks aren't expecting twins."  
      They pulled into a dirt clearing that housed a cabin and not much else. Redwoods and pines surrounded the clearing in thick forest, and the setting sun coated everything in an orange glow.   
     The tires of the car crunched over layers of gravel and pine needles as Stan pulled up next to his brother's car.  
     "Some place, huh?" Stan mumbled, glancing up at the cabin through the windshield, "More of a shack than a "research outpost" if ya ask me." He added, getting out of the car. He strode to the door of the cabin, not checking to see if Fiddleford had followed, and pounded on it five times.   
     Several minutes passed before the door creaked open to reveal his twin,  
     "Stan!" He exclaimed, quickly hugging his brother, "thank you for coming. And...Professor Mcgucket? I um...it's nice to finally meet you in person, but you don't start until tomorrow."  
     "Oh yeah," Stan explained as Stanford shook Fiddleford's hand, "I found your nerd running from a biker gang so I made out with him and brought him along. Got any food?" He pushed his way past his stunned brother and into the cabin, searching for the kitchen.  
     Fiddleford stood gaping at the door for a moment before sputtering out,  
     "I-I--No! That's not--Mr. Pines, your brother is joking we--we did NOT er, uh, "make out" we didn't he just--I was in a tight spot and--"  
     Stan's laugh came from another room. Soon after, his head poked out from the hall,  
     "Relax, Fids, I'm messin' with ya." He had somehow already found food and had dug in without bothering to heat it up.  
     Stanford smiled sympathetically at Fiddleford,  
     "Stanley is...something of a jokester. Don't worry, teasing you means he likes you." He thought for a moment, "Or, I suppose it could mean he absolutely hates you." Stanford pat Fiddleford on the shoulder before heading off to join his brother in the kitchen.   
     Fiddleford stood, dumbfounded. He wasn't quite sure what to make of the Pines twins, particularly Stanley. He wasn't quite sure what to make of this job, particularly the mysterious circumstances from which it arose. However, he did know that he was just curious enough to stick around.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
     They began their work the next morning at five. The three of them trekked through the woods for several miles before Stanford stopped them in front of a tree,  
     "Here we are." Ford gestured to the tree before them. Stan and Fiddleford stood staring at Stanford before Stanley finally broke the silence with,  
     "W--what the hell are you talkin' about? It's...it's a tree. Oh my god, it's happening!" Stan grinned, "I'm finally the smart twin! AL-PHA TWIN! AL-PHA TWIN!" Fiddleford rolled his eyes as Stanford opened up a panel in the bark of the tree, staring at his brother with a smug expression.  
     Stan stopped mid-chant, arms falling back to his sides,  
     "What is that, a secret door?" He squinted as Ford input a code and revealed the spiral staircase leading below the tree, "Damn. Almost had it." He muttered, following the other two into the bunker.  
     After passing through several layers of security, the trio arrived in a system of caves. Fiddleford had grown increasingly nervous throughout their walk,  
     "U-uh, Mr. Pines, if you don't mind my asking...is this where we'll be uh...working, primarily?"  
     Stanford laughed,  
     "First, call me Ford. Second, I'm not _that_ much of an eccentric. This is where I keep some of my more dangerous experiments. The main workshop is under the house."  
     "Shack." Stan corrected, covered by a fake cough.  
     As Fiddleford and Ford spoke more about the work conditions, Stan began walking around the cave, glancing over the equipment scattered on tables and across the floor.   
     Eventually, he had drifted into another section of cave, this one was brightly lit, with several trays of medical supplies on a metal table and an area partitioned off with thick glass.   
     Inside the glass cage, stood his father.   
     Stan froze, eyes wide and stomach twisting in fear and confusion. His father turned to look at him, and he stepped back nervously as the man spoke,  
     "Stanley. It's about time you showed up. Let me out of this damn thing at once."  
     Stan moved to open the door but hesitated. He swallowed hard and forced out,  
     "What are you doing here? You're...you died."  
     "'What are you doing here _sir_.'" the man corrected, "And I see you haven't gotten any smarter since I left. I'm not dead, _boy_. Where the hell'd you get that idea from, your brother? Now let. Me. Out."  
     "Yessir." Stan nodded, heading once again for the door.   
     "STAN, NO." Ford rushed over, stopping his twin, "Stan, it's not dad, listen, that's a shapeshifter. I caught it in the woods last year and raised it and now it's become something of a nuisance. Trust me, Stan, it's not dad. Dad is gone."   
     Stanley's eyes were fixed over his brother's shoulder, staring at the figure that looked like their father. Ford shook him by the shoulders firmly,  
     "STAN."   
     Stanley blinked several times, focusing on his brother,  
     "Right. No, yeah I...right."  
     Stanford nodded at him before turning to address the shapeshifter. Fiddleford came up behind Stanley, hesitantly patting his arm in a show of sympathy. Stan flinched at the touch, but walked off before Fiddleford had the chance to apologize.    
     The shapeshifter chuckled as its form bubbled,  
     "What's wrong, Stanley?? Can't handle your old man?" It shifted into Stanley now and examined its new limbs, "Stanford always dislikes when I become you, but I find your form suits me nicely. I am so grateful that your brother took the time to show me a family photo album. What do you think, Stanley? Or perhaps you'd prefer to see a younger version of yourself..."   
     Stan clenched his fist and whirled around to face the shapeshifter, charging towards to glass. Ford jumped between him and the glass, putting his hands up,  
     "Stan, ignore it. You have to ignore it. It tries to get to you but you can't let it. Come on, we'll talk in the other room." He pulled his brother away from the taunting laughter of the shapeshifter, motioning for Fiddleford to follow.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
     They sat down at a table in another section of the cave. Stan stared at a lap as Stanford began to explain the situation,   
     "Well, as you can see, the shapeshifter is why I needed you to come to Gravity Falls, Stan. And Professor McGucket, I'm glad you could start today. I need to find a better containment system. I'm thinking a cryogenic chamber may be the best option."   
     Fiddleford nodded,  
     "I'll start on the plans immediately."  
     "What should I do." Stan muttered.  
     "Well for now, I'd just like you to assist the professor and I in any way possible. I...may also need your help when it comes to um...moving the shapeshifter to its new containment unit."  
     Stan nodded, and they set to work on their first task.   
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
     Stan woke up the next morning laying next to the couch, covered in discarded plans and papers. He sat up quickly, checking the clock and looking around for Fiddleford and his brother.   
     He found Fiddleford sprawled on the couch next to him, several schematic drawings clutched in his hands.   
     Stan stood up, stretching and yawning before throwing a pillow at Fiddleford,  
     "C'mon, nerd. Ford's probably workin' already."   
     The professor groaned and pulled his schematics closer, ignoring his wake up call. Stan shrugged and headed into the other room, the damp air of the cave making him shiver. The moment he entered the other room, however, he regretted having woken up at all.  
     The door of the glass cage had been opened. Leading up to the cage, several tables had been toppled, their contents spilled out and smashed on the floor. Blood mixed with chemicals on the ground, smearing in the direction of the exit.   
     Stan's voice caught in his throat. He wanted to yell for help, but couldn't make a sound.      
     He ran back to the other section of the cave, shaking Fiddleford and forcing himself to speak,  
     "F-FIDS!! Fids you gotta wake up, t-the shapeshifter has my brother!!"  
     Fiddleford was awakened by Stan's efforts and scrambled to get a hold of full consciousness in order to understand the situation,  
     "Stanley? Wha--where's Stanford?"  
     Stan gripped the scientist's lapels, as they had all fallen asleep fully clothed, and made unwavering eye contact,  
     "The shapeshifter. Has. Ford. Now get the hell up, we have to find him!!" Stan charged off, searching the rest of the bunker as Fiddleford gathered their plans and stored them away. They met back in the main room and ran back to the shack, finding broken twigs and spots if blood that suggested they were on the right track.  
     "How long have they been gone??" Fiddleford asked.  
     Stan checked his watch,  
     "I-I don't know! We fell asleep at what, five? So like, they could have left four hours ago, or they could've left ten minutes ago, how should I know?!"  
     By the time they reached the shack, they were both panting from the run. Stanley continued immediately inside and Fiddleford pushed himself to follow, despite his overwhelming desire to simply collapse on the spot.  
     The shack was dark. Their luggage lay in the exact spot they had dropped it off the night before, but several tables and chairs had been overturned, as if someone had been searching for something.   
     Stanley called out for his brother while they scoured the shack, but to no avail. By the time they had finished, Stan was frantically running his fingers through his hair, nearly hyperventilating at the thought of losing his twin,  
     "I-I can't-- I can't believe this, this is all my fucking fault!!" he kicked the leg of the coffee table before slumping down onto the couch, cradling his head in his hands.  
     Fiddleford stood uncomfortably in the center of the room. He felt the need to comfort Stan, to tell him that everything would be ok, but instead he cleared his throat,  
     "Stanley now...I know I've only known you for a day and, maybe I'm crossin' a line but," he took a deep breath, "your brother is missing. It ain't--it's not your fault, but if you don't keep tryin' to find him, that," he swallowed nervously, "that _will_ be your fault! So you're going to get up and a-and we're going to, t-to go find your brother!"  
     Stan lifted his head from his hands, sitting very still for several seconds before taking a deep breath. He stood then, and Fiddleford momentarily feared for his life. He squeaked out an apology just as Stan patted him on the shoulder,  
     "No, you're uh...you're right, nerd. He must've left something..." Stan thought for a few moments. He followed the blood drips around the shack once more, this time pausing when the splotches became larger.   
     Kneeling down, he saw the walkman that Stanford often used to make journal entries when they were kids. He grabbed it and swiftly rewound the tape before pressing play. His brother's voice crackled out, followed by the voice of the shapeshifter,  
     ' _\--don't know what you're talking about. That is the only journal I have._ '  
     ' _Don't lie to me, Pines. Where. Is. the other journal._ '  
     A muffled gasp of pain came through the speaker,  
     ' _M-my brother! My brother hid it. It's not here though, it's somewhere in Washington, I can help you find it._ '  
     Laughter, then several shuffling sounds,  
     ' _Then I'll have to take a more comfortable form. And you and I will take a little road trip._ '  
     As the creature spoke, its voice became more like Stan's, it let out another laugh before the tape went to static.  
     Stan paused the tape and stood. Fiddleford looked up at him,  
     "Washington? Well that's a start at least...but we have to figure out where--"  
     "No. I know where they're going. And we're gunna meet them there."


	2. SFUS (Standard Fucked-Up Situation)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A car, a motel, a problem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of a short chapter, but I'm feeling out how I like my chapters at this point. Hope every one enjoys, and once again, I'm taking some liberties with social constructs of the time period. (characters are obviously not mine). Enjoy the read!

     Within fifteen minutes, the two were in Stan's car, heading down the highway. Stanley clutched the wheel tightly as he drove, going well above the speed limit. Fiddleford, on the other hand, clutched his seat just as tightly. His heart pounded in his chest as Stan took turns at reckless speeds.     

     After nearly an hour of terror, Fiddleford piped up, "S-stanley?? Stanley perhaps w-we could slow--" he yelped as Stan swerved out of the way of a squirrel, "PERHAPS WE COULD SLOW DOWN?!"

     "Not on your life, nerd. That thing's got my brother and we're gunna find him ASAP."

     "Yes, well that may prove difficult if we're _dead_!"

     Stan snorted in amusement, "Trust me, Fids, I can handle this car. And it's not like we have to worry about those half-wit cops stopping--"

     A police siren cut him off mid-sentence. Stan swore under his breath as he slowed down and pulled over, red an blue lights illuminating the interior of the car. He turned in his seat to face the scientist,

     "Alright Fids, here's the deal, you're dying, I'm drivin' you to the hospital. Got it??"

     Fiddleford signed, "Stanley just take the ticket!"

     "No," he hissed, "that's gunna take forever, listen! We gotta act fast, now start squirmin' around like you're dying, nerd!" Stan rolled down his window, taking a deep breath before turning towards the police officer, cutting her off before she could even ask for his liscence, "Oh god, officer, please let me explain!! Y'see, my friend here is so very frail and sickly, and I, being the caring, loving individual that I am, volunteered to take him to the hospital," he forced tears to his eyes, choking up, "for what is very likely the last time in his tragically short life!" He sniffled and wiped away his tears, "Yes I broke the law, but this man, this man right here, he broke my heart!"

     To finish off his performance, Stan began to openly weep and, while shielding his eyes from the officer, raised his eyebrows at Fiddleford, encouraging him to play along.

     Fiddleford took the hint, grabbing his stomach and moaning with the gusto of a wounded buffalo more so than a dying man.

     The officer looked in of the scene and grimaced, taking a step back,

     "Right...well uh, just be careful driving so fast and uh...sorry about...whatever this is. Carry on."

     Once the officer had pulled away, Stan sat up and grinned, "Hey, not too bad, nerd! Better than Ford usually does, spewin' out medical terms and all."      Fiddleford felt oddly proud of the praise he received, though Stab's wording made him wonder exactly how many times he had cheated the law with this particular stunt.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

     After another few hours in the car, Fiddleford began keeping a mental list of surprising things he had learned about Stanley Pines.

  1.) His taste in music was widely varied, but firmly set. This lead to rapid-fire changes in the radio station when an unacceptable song began.

  2.) He'd been arrested several times, but did not go into details as to why

  3.) He had, for some reason, a strange affinity for salamanders.

     Although the list was only three points long, Fiddleford was determined to learn more about the man. He rationalized this desire by telling himself that they would be working in close proximity, and therefore he should get to know him better.

     He didn't mind lying to himself as long as he could do so convincingly.

     "So Stanley," he began, attempting a very casual tone, "what's your girlfriend like?"

     Stan grimaced, raising an eyebrow, "'Girlfriend'? What girlfriend?"

     Fiddleford ran the fabric of his tie between his fingers, "Oh, well I er, I just assumed--"

     "You assumed? I thought scientists weren't supposed to do that." He teased dryly, "I dated a girl about a year ago, her name was Carla Mcorkle. Didn't work out." He muttered something about hippies and their dirty tricks under his breath.

     "Oh! I apologize..."

     "Don't. It happened, it ended, I'm over it. What about you, Fids? You got anyone that would miss ya if you got eaten by a dragon while working for my brother?"

     The other man shivered at the wording, but shook his head, "No, no. My wife and I have been divorced for two years."

     "Oh, well hey, sorry 'bout that," He mumbled.

     They drove with the dead air hanging between them for several more miles, as Stan flicked between radio stations, but found that none of the music sufficiently stifled the silence.

     Fiddleford looked out the window at the sun, which was dipping behind the trees and mountains, "Where exactly are we headed, Stanley? The recording said Washington, but how do you know where they're going?"

     "There's this town we visited when we were kids. I think we had family there or somethin'. Anyway, our parents took us and we camped there for a week," Stan laughed an shook his head, "My idiot brother got us lost in the woods one day, it was pouring rain, and we were convinced we were gonna die out there,"

     Fiddleford smirked as Stan went on,

     "That was the first time we saw anything uh...'supernatural'. They were these little glowing things, an' we kept thinkin' they were flashlights, so we'd run towards 'em, but they were these glowing fairy things. They even started imitating our voices, making is think the other was callin' us.

     Eventually we found our way outta there, but by then it was morning. Our parents yelled at us for about an hour."      Fiddleford laughed, happy to see Stan relaxing, if only marginally.

     He glanced again out the window, seeing that the sky was now a deep indigo, with only a hint of orange glow filtering through the trees.

   "Stanley, we should probably stop for the night, get some rest."

     “No dice, cowboy.” Stan responded, “We're not stopping until my brother is in the back seat and that bizarro-monster-thing is dead.”

     Fiddleford sighed, though he had anticipated this exact reaction, “Stanley, you know that's not practical. We can't possibly fight that creature while sleep deprived, and I'm sure your brother can handle himself for a while if we stop and rest.”

Several minutes passed in silence as Stan gripped the wheel, knuckles white, eyes fixed on the lines of the road as they passed by his car. Eventually he grunted in what Fiddleford assumed was agreement, and took the next exit off the highway.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

     The exit lead them to a town that one would expect to end up in on a roadtrip. One that is entirely lit by neon signs, and is a permanent home to no one. Only exhausted motorists and the people who ran the motels and fast-food joints spent more that twenty minutes here, despite the signs encouraging tourists to visit “Harvey the Giant Rabbit” and other road-side “attractions”.

     “Nerd, grab that box from under your seat.” Fiddleford raised an eyebrow, rummaging under his seat until his fingers wrapped around a small tin box. The box was old and rusted, with a faded baseball logo on the front. Fiddleford popped the top off, unprepared for the stack of credit cards that dumped itself into his lap.

     He looked down in shock, shuffling through the cards, which all had different names printed on them in raised letters.

     "Stanley, what on earth...?" He said quietly, not fully committing to a question. Stan snorted in response,

     "What, nerd? So i've got a complicated life! At least i'm not building robots that destroy entire motorcycle gangs, am i right?" He jabbed the other man's arm with his elbow before reaching for the credit cards in his lap and rummaging around.

     Fiddleford reddened, quickly shoving Stan's hand away, "For pete's sake just tell me which one you need!" A sigh escaped him, "Honestly Stanley, I can't condone this."

     Stan successfully tuned out the rest of Fiddleford's lecture on morals and wellbeing, opting instead to seek out a motel for the night. Once he found an acceptable establishment that didn't remind him of "Psycho", he pulled into the parking lot, allowing the car to idle as Fiddleford finished his speech.

     "Right, so anyway we're gonna use this one." Stan said, plucking a card from the scientist's lap and placing it in his coat pocket. Fiddleford raised an eyebrow,

     "Didn't you hear a single thing I said, Stanley? I'll pay for our room."

     Stan could swear his heart skipped a beat. He scratched the back of his head uncomfortably,

     "W...what? No way nerd that's uh...that's just embarrassing or, or something."

     "Nonsense, I won't have you committing fraud, at least not in my presence please." The last part was slightly mumbled though the sentiment behind it rung out clear enough. Stan felt something tight and heavy in his stomach, a feeling that he wasn't sure what to do with.

       Fiddleford got out of the car and Stan decided to push the feeling away until it became annoying, which was his habitual way of dealing with most emotions. He grabbed the suitcase from the back seat and followed Fiddleford to the door, trying to think of some way to repay him.

     The lobby of the motel was exactly like the lobbies of millions of other motels. It was not entirely clean, though there was nothing specifically dirty about it. There were far too many lights, but they were all yellowed and dim, and at least three flies buzzed lazily through the stale air, as if they were part of the staff; here by obligation, not desire.

     Fiddleford approached the counter, asking to check in. Stan quickly slid in next to him as the cashier asked if they'd like one bed of two,

     "One, of course!" Stan laughed, draping his arm around Fiddleford's waist, "We're on our honeymoon after all!" Stan waggled his eyebrows at the man behind the desk, who smiled politely, congratulated them, and began searching for a room key.

       Fiddleford was thankful that the cashier seemed to take it all in stride, which was more than he could say for himself. He found himself frozen as the weight of the other man's arm hung on his hips. He heard Stan's voice detailing the elaborate trip that they had apparently planned for the next day, but his voice seemed far away, as if he was speaking into a glass.

       Eventually, when prompted, he handed the cashier his credit card and received a key in return. Stan wasted no time in whisking him away from the counter and towards their room, only releasing him when the door was shut behind them.

     Fiddleford whipped around and jabbed a finger towards Stan, " _What in sam hill was that_?!"

     Stan snorted in amusement, "'Sam hill'?"

       Fiddleford huffed in embarrassment, "Stanley why would you tell them that--"

     A firm knock on the door interrupted him. Stan smirked at him and pulled the door open, speaking briefly to the man on the other side before reentering with a bottle of champagne and a box of chocolate triumphantly raised.

     Fiddleford stared blankly at him for a moment before bursting out laughing, the confusion that had consumed him seconds ago now melting away. Stan placed the box of chocolates in the other man's hands, laughing a bit himself.

       "You did all of that for cheep champagne and chocolate?" Fiddleford asked, pulling a piece from the box.

     "Absolutely not," Stan said firmly, "I did all of that for  _dinner_. So eat up, nerd."

     Fiddleford sat on the bed as Stan poured out champagne for the two of them.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

     Within an hour, the bottle was half gone, and the two men lay side by side on the bed.

    They had been talking for a while before Stan checked his watch and sat up, gathering his things from the suitcase on the floor. He was reluctant to leave the company of the bed, but eager to sleep and get back to searching for his brother.

       He changed in the bathroom, coming out a minute later and standing next to the bed,

     "We'll sleep for three hours, then we're heading back out."

     Fiddleford nodded, looking up and planning to agree, and yet the only word that came from his mouth was,

     "Glasses?" Stan did, in fact, have glasses perched on his nose, an addition that Fiddleford was not expecting, but not at all unhappy to see.

     Stan's posture immediately shrank at the mention of his glasses, "Yeah, yeah. Go ahead and get all the jokes out of your system now, nerd, before I change my mind." His voice was thick with forced sarcasm, eyes focusing on anything but the man sitting on the bed.

     "You...look--"

     "Weird, I know." Stan offered, but Fiddleford shook his head,

     "Not at all, Stanley. Well I...I was going to say..." What? Nice? Nice was far too bland for what he felt. Fine? Too informal. _Sexy_? Perhaps that was _too_ honest. "Handsome." He decided, swallowing hard.

     Stan blinked and raised his eyebrows. His stomach knotted up once again, and he began to worry about his health. His hands clenched and unclenched by his sides as he searched for some way to respond. Luckily he didn't have to, as Fiddleford quickly spoke again,

     "Wait a moment, are those reading glasses, Stanley?" Stan shook his head, abd Fiddleford nearly burst, "HOW did you drive us here then?!"

       This gave Stan a moment to regain his bearings, laughing briefly at Fiddleford's nervousness,

     "Relax, Fids, my eyes aren't _that_ bad. Besides--"

     "No Stanley, this is no laughing matter! You could get hurt driving if your eyesight is impaired!"

     "Aw, what's the matter, Fids? Ya care about me or somethin'?" Stan waggled his eyebrows jokingly, but Fiddleford met him with a very serious, yet mumbled,

     "Yes."

     Stan immediately shut his mouth. He attemped to sound annoyed as he groaned,

     "Ugh, why're you always... _doing_ that? Actin' all..." His sentence trailed off as the weight in his stomach returned. The frequency at which the feeling was appearing alarmed him, but the understanding of what it was frightened him more.

     He took a breath.

     "Are you alright, Stanley...? You seem rather pale." Fiddleford stood, arms slightly outstretched as if to catch Stan if he fell, although the very notion that the scientist could support the other man's weight was absurd.

     "Yeah..." he began, "I'm just gunna...", he placed his hands on Fiddleford's arms, partially to stop himself from backing out of what he was about to do. Fiddleford looked up at the other man, but before the scientist could ask if something was wrong, Stan's lips had met his own, and any thoughts in Fiddleford's head went immediately to mush.


	3. FUMTU- Fucked Up More Than Usual

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Worry leads to rash decisions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fixed up the names, so now they are accurate to the canon of the series. If there's any confusion let me know! Sorry that this took so long to post but I've been super busy with school. Hope you like it, please feel free to comment!

     Fiddleford tensed up in surprise, but before he had the opportunity to reciprocate, the weight of Stan's hands and the touch of his mouth were gone. The other man looked nervous as he stepped back,

     "That was a no, right? Sorry, hey, forget it ever happened, nerd. I dunno what I was doin'. Sorry."

     "No!" Fiddleford sputtered, grasping for words that were still hidden in his foggy mind.

     "Yeah, it was a no, I--"

     "No, it wasn't a no!"

     Stan paused, "It wasn't? Wait, then what was it?"

     "I don't know...perhaps surprise."

     "Surprise?"

     "Yes."

     "So then it was a--?"

     " _Yes_." Fiddleford said quickly, seizing his opportunity and once again bringing their lips together. Stan felt a tingle run through his chest. He wrapped his arms around Fiddleford, deepening the kiss at the expense of smushing their noses together in a rather uncomfortable manner.

     Though he couldn't quite register what was happening, he found himself stepping backwards towards the bed, sitting when he felt the edge of the mattress on his thighs. Fiddleford took his new-found height advantage and wrapped his arms around Stan's neck. His hand found the back of Stan's head as he ran his fingers through the other man's hair. The two found their way further onto the bed, mouths meeting between breaths. Stan looked up at Fiddleford as the other man's hand slid up his shirt.

     Stan took a breath.

     "Wait. I don't wanna do this." He blurted, not sure if he was confident in that statement. Fiddleford met Stan's eyes, reddening as he removed himself from his position on top of the boxer,

     "I'm very sorry, Stanley, I--"

     "No, this isn't about you Fids or--" he rubbed his face with one hand in frustration at his own inability to explain, "well, I guess it _IS_  about you." Fiddleford shrank back,

     "I apologize, what did I do...?" Stan shook his head,

     "No nerd, you didn't do anything... It was great, I just... I want to be sure about stuff." he admitted sheepishly, " Y'know, I wanna be sure I'm not just doin' this to get my mind off of that stupid shapeshifter or somethin'." Fiddleford smiled and reached out to pat Stanford's shoulder sympathetically,

     "Stanley, that's very--"

     "Nope!" The other man exclaimed, rolling over suddenly, "No more touchy-feely emotional junk. I think I just spilled my guts enough for the both of us, nerd." He placed his glasses on the night table before quickly shutting off the light. Stan buried his face deeply into his pillow, wondering briefly if he could smother himself without the other man noticing. He mentally berated himself for adding more confusion to this whole mix, and off-handedly considered what Ford would think once he found out about what happened. He _would_  find out, after all. He always found out, whether it was via his unnervingly keen sense of observation, or if Fiddleford accidentally brought it up, or even if Stan himself caved and told him, as had happened before and was sure to happen again. It was not a confrontation that he was looking forward to, no matter how it came about.

     By the time he had thoroughly worried himself with an endless stream of worst-case scenarios, he heard a gentle snore arise from the man next to him. Stan knew he would not sleep that night. Images of what could be happening to his twin manifested themselves in rapid secession, preventing any form of drowsiness. He thought about their next move, how they were going to stay ahead of the creature and how they were going to prevent it from tearing his brother limb from limb when it found out that he didn't have the journal. With no way to contact his brother, his options seemed grimly limited, but he was determined to find some way to reach Stanford.

     Half an hour later, Stan sat up and pulled out their map. He traced the course to DC, marking every rest stop on the way, before pulling the phone book from the nightstand. He called each one from the hotels from their room's landline, asking if anyone under the name of Pines had checked in. On the seventh call, the clerk confirmed that a Stanford and Stanley Pines had checked in half an hour ago. Stan's stomach clenched at hearing his own name paired with his brother's, but asked the clerk to connect him to the room nonetheless. On the third ring, the phone picked up, and he heard his own voice on the other line,    

     "Uh yeah, who is this?" It spoke, adopting his dialect perfectly. Stan grit his teeth,

     "It's the guy whose face you stole, asshole." Stan heard Fiddleford shift in the bed behind him, but focused on the laughter of the shapeshifter on the other end of the phone. He had to play this right if he wanted it to work out in his favor.

     "Ah, hello again, Stanley. Did you finally realize that your brother was missing?" The creature had dropped Stan's voice, though he could only imagine that it still held his form, if only to disturb his brother.

     "We've been on your trail for hours, bub, problem is that you're the one whose goin' in the wrong direction."

     "Don't try to fool me, Stanley. Your brother has already revealed where you've hidden the other journal."

     "What'd he tell ya, Washington?" Stan scoffed, relishing the seconds of dead air that followed.

     "Are you suggesting that he was wrong?" the creature demanded, a waver to its normally steady voice.

     "Of course he was wrong! Jeez, he told me to hide the thing, wouldn't make much sense if I just told him where I put it! If he wanted to know, he coulda hid it himself!"

     More silence.

     "So then your twin is of no use to me."

     "Not quite!" Stan interjected, catching the shapeshifter's attention before it could harm Stanford. He worded his next sentence more carefully, "Y'see, now we both have somethin' that the other wants. You want the journal, I want my brother back safe." Stanley knew that Ford would hate him if he gave up the journal, but he refused to let him die for a stupid book. His hand dug through the duffel bag that contained the few items they had brought along, tugging free a rectangular parcel, wrapped up in a towel. If he had to resort to this then so be it, but it was more likely to succeed than chasing them down and hoping to catch up.

     "Very well," the creature finally responded, "you make a compelling point, Stanley. Your brother in exchange for the journal. But how can I be sure that you have the book?" Stan took a deep breath, unwrapping the book in his lap and staring down at the golden handprint on the cover. He flipped open to a random page, making sure that the turn of each one could be heard in the telephone,

     "The Gremloblin, a creature that can show you your worst fears if you look into its--" he was cut off by the shapeshifter's laughter,

     "Very well, it's a deal."

     "Good. Uh...meet us in the woods in Silverton. By Hazelgreen and Howell Prairie. Ford'll know where it is."

     "Fine." Stan heard the phone shift, as if towards the receiver and, in a panic, called out,

     "WAIT!" sure enough, the line remained, and Stan cleared his throat, "I uh, I want to talk to him. To Stanford. Cuz if uh, if you hurt him--" the laughter that rose from the phone caused his body to tense up, "if you hurt 'im, you're not getting the fucking book."

     "You wish to speak to your brother? Very well." Muffled sounds of struggle followed, and Stan forced himself not to smash the phone in anger, but soon enough, Stanford's voice came through, huffing and shaking,

     "Stanley, what the hell are you thinking?! It can't have the journal!" Stan took a breath, relief washing over him,

     "Listen, Ford, you gotta trust me. I just gotta get you back and then--"

     "And then /what/?! And then we're all going to be killed anyway, Stan! Cut your losses!"

     "You're not gunna be another one of my losses, Ford!" The shapeshifter's laughter returned once more, and Stanley couldn't take more taunting. He slammed the phone into the receiver, burying his face in his hands as his body shook, a cocktail of emotions pulsing through him.

     When Fiddleford's hand pressed against his shoulder, he nearly jumped out of his skin. He sprung off the bed, fists raised and eyes damp, but was faced only with Mcgucket's concerned expression.

     "Stanley, what's wrong? Who were you speaking to?" Stan took a shaky breath, trying to control the tears that he felt burning behind his eyes,

     "My brother. I'm giving that thing his journal and we're getting him back." He sniffed, turning away before quickly rubbing his eyes and gritting his teeth.

     "You...have the journal?" Fiddleford asked quietly. Stan nodded,

     "Ford had it hidden in the shack. He lied to the shapeshifter to bide time, but I dunno what the hell he was planning. Luckily poindexter's been hidin' his stuff in the same places since we were ten, so the "false-back-in-the-bookshelf-that-covers-a-secret-box" routine is kinda overused." Fiddleford smiled slightly as Stan continued, "We're meeting them in the woods tomorrow, a few miles from here. And that's when we kill the thing." Fiddleford gaped for a moment, shocked by the edge in Stan's voice,

     "Well...Stanley we can't kill it..." Stan looked down at his hands,

     "Why the hell not?"

     "Your brother's research! I-it could ruin his reasearch! Not to mention that trying to kill it would be quite difficult, seeing as it can change shape..." Stan slid his hand over to take Fiddleford's. His thumb rubbed against the top of the scientist's hand, as he took several deep breaths. Fiddleford stayed quiet, looking at Stanley's face, but his gaze not being met by the other man's eyes. Finally, Stan spoke,

     "We've gotta catch it at least. I'm not gonna let it get away with this." Stan did not indicate the journal, so Fiddleford could only assume that he meant the situation as a whole, and he nodded in agreement.

     "We can figure out a way to capture it tomorrow, but for now you need sleep, Stanley." He gently removed Stan's glasses before tugging the other man down and pulling the blankets up to their shoulders. Fiddleford started to roll over, his back to his companion, when the sudden weight of thick arms wrapped around his stomach and torso. Stan curled into a protective ball around Fiddleford, his body finally releasing some of its tension, despite the compact position he had taken. The smaller man readily settled in, appreciating the warmth and general proximity of the arrangement, and within moments he felt the gently rise and fall of Stan's chest slow as he slipped into sleep.


	4. FUBB- Fucked Up Beyond Belief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plans? Who needs plans? Everything always goes wrong anyway! (Some depictions of violence in this chapter, but nothing extreme!)

     Stanley woke suddenly the next morning, though he couldn't pinpoint what caused his this. He patted the bed next to him, realizing with a sickening lurch that Fiddleford was not there. His mind went immediately to the shapeshifter as he rushed to pull on proper clothes, simultaneously searching for his car keys.

     As he turned for the door, he found Fiddleford already standing there, a box in one arm and a plastic bag in the other, staring in confusion at the panicked man within the room.

     "Jesus _fucking_ christ." Stan breathed, wrapping his arms tightly around Fiddleford's shoulders, "Are you crazy?!"

     "Crazy like a scientist," Fiddleford grinned, "I purchased something at the store that I believe will help us capture the shapeshifter! Also, I bought us some breakfast since I figured you weren't able to dig up some more chocolate and champagne." He teased. Stan laughed, mostly from relief, and told Fiddleford to explain his plan in the car.

* * *

 

     Once they were packed and once again on the road, Fiddleford opened the box that he had purchased,

     "I bought this at a hardware store this morning," he explained, pulling a heavy metallic cube out of its cardboard container. Stan glanced over at it, raising an eyebrow,

     "A safe?" His companion nodded,

     "Yes, a /bulletproof/ safe. If we lure it in here, it won't be able to break out. We'll be able to take it back to Stanford's lab and sedate it!"

     "Yeah!" Stan grinned, though his excitement was temporary, "Wait a sec, how the hell're we gonna get it _in_ that thing? It's not exactly gonna crawl right in." Fiddleford sighed,

     "Well that's something I haven't quite worked out..."

     "Hey, don't worry about it, Fidds, I'll figure somethin' out! I may not be as smart as my brother, but I'm an expert at wormin' my way outta things."

     "Heh, admirable." He said, expecting his own words to be dripping with sarcasm, but feeling every bit as genuine as he sounded.

     "Besides, I say we try to get as far away from it as possible, and if that doesn't work, then we catch it." Fiddleford nodded,

     "So our plan is--"

     "Plan A is run like hell. Plan B is fight like hell. That's about all I got." Stan pulled off the main road onto a dirt road that lead into the woods. "Dirt road", Fiddleford thought, was being generous. In reality, the path was overgrown with tall weeds, and only the lack of trees suggested that one could drive a car down it. Whether or not one /should/ drive a car down it, however, was yet to be determined.

     "Flight or fight. How very comforting..." Fiddleford clutched the safe, the cold edges that pressed firmly into his palms doing little to calm him. He considered reaching for Stanley's hand, but noticed that they seemed to be welded to the wheel, just as his eyes were welded to the road ahead of them.

     After fifteen more minutes on the path, Stan pulled into a grassy clearing in the forest.

     The car idled.

     His fingers drummed.

     They sat in silence as fog collected into water droplets on the windows, the temperature inside the vehicle dropping. Stan finally breathed a sign of relief as his brother's car pulled into the clearing. He could see himself behind the wheel, with Stanford in the passenger seat. Stan grabbed the towel-wrapped book from under his seat and looked toward Fiddleford. Fiddleford swallowed hard, nodding at Stan before they exited the car simultaneously. Stan stood in the wet grass, shoulder to shoulder with the scientist, as they watched the Other Stanley exit, before going to the opposite side and tugging Stanford out as well.

     Stan grit his teeth when he saw the state of his brother. Stanford's left sleeve was sliced open, the blood staining the fabric suggesting that the cut went deeper than just his coat. He also sported a black eye and a bloody nose, which leaked onto the cloth that was shoved between his teeth, tied securely behind his head, similarly to how his hands were tied behind his back.

     "I told you not to hurt him or you wouldn't get the book!" Stan called from across the clearing, grip tightening on the object in his hands. The shapeshifter only laughed in response, the sound resembling Stan's voice mixed with its own.

     "You'll take him as he is or you will take his corpse. Which will it be?" Fiddleford placed his hand on Stan's arm, silently warning him not to anger the creature. Stan glanced at him briefly and nodded, before stepping forward and raising the towel-wrapped book in one hand,

     "Let's get this over with." He saw Ford's eyes dart angrily towards the parcel, but chose to ignore the look.

     "Unwrap the journal." The monster demanded, its Stan disguise bubbling and warping, but not changing.

     "Then untie my brother." The creature hissed, but complied, and in turn, Stan unwrapped the book, showing the shifter its red cover. He walked forward then, as Fiddleford stayed in place. Stan made it to the halfway point of the clearing and paused, inviting the shifter to do the same. It did, and soon enough, Stan was standing face to face with himself. Ford's arm was tightly in the creature's grasp and his eyes darted between the two Stans, lingering on his brother and giving him a warning glance.

     "Alright, buddy," Stan began, "you let go of my brother, I'll put the book on the ground. We'll walk away, and you'll pick it up and walk the other way, got it?" The shapeshifter nodded firmly, bubbling back into its own form and releasing Ford's arm as Stan crouched down and placed the book in the grass, heart pounding. When he finally released the book, he straightened up to see Ford's disapproving stare. He ignored that for the time being and tugged Ford away, leading him quickly towards the car.

     The shifter snatched the book, eagerly flipping to a random page, craving the forms of the creatures it held. The shifter was met with thin, yellow paper. There were no images to be seen, and all that the many pages contained were rows upon rows of minuscule names followed by strings of numbers. The shifter flipped viciously through the pages, which came lose around it. Its eyes widened as the remaining pages came free from the cover in one chunk. The motel phonebook lay in the wet grass, surrounded by individual pages that fluttered past. The shifter stood dumbfounded, the red cover of the journal, gutted of its false pages, resting in its hand,

     "How.../DARE/...you..." Stan quickened his pace, tugging his brother and Fiddleford along with him. The furious screech of the creature behind them made his stomach clench,

     "Uh oh..." he mumbled while, in the same moment, a heavy force slammed into his back, ripping his grip from the other two men and knocking the air from his lungs as he fell to the ground. He vaguely heard Fiddleford yell his name, though through his ringing ears, it sounded as if he was miles away. He felt an immense weight settle on top of him as a huge, clawed paw grabbed the back of his head and shoved it to the ground,

     "WHERE IS THE JOURNAL?" The creature, now in the shape of a bear, cried out, saliva dripping from between its teeth. Stan grunted as the claws dug into his scalp,

     "I gave ya the journal, I didn't promise anything about the _pages_." The creature growled and raised a paw to bring down on the back of Stan's head, but was instead met with the full force of Ford ramming into its side. The shapeshifter was taken by surprise, tumbling off of Stan and grappling with Ford for a moment before tossing him off of its body. Stanford landed hard against a tree, lying still in his disorientation. His attack had given Stan enough time to get to his feet, but within seconds the shapeshifter was rushing back towards him, its form changing so rapidly that Stan could not predict what sort of attack he may receive.

     "Fids!," he called, barely ducking in time as the creature swiped at him, "get Ford in the car, NOW!" The creature landed a punch that felt strangely familiar. Stan looked up to meet his brother's eyes paired with a murderous grin,

     "You won't be needing your brother anymore, Stanley. Once you give me the journal, we can do away with him! I will take on his face, and we will begin anew. I will value your opinions, I will appreciate your input, I will recognize your intelligence! I will be all that your brother is and _more_! What do you say?" Stan grimaced and punched his fake brother in the jaw, sending the creature back several steps,

     "I say that's dumb. And way over dramatic." He threw another punch, but this time the shifter caught his fist mid-swing and used its grip to send him sailing across the clearing. If there was one thing Stan could do well, however, it was take a hit, and he quickly rushed back at the creature, tackling it to the ground as Fiddleford attempted to pull a semi-conscious Stanford to the car. He punched the thing repeatedly, pleased to finally have a valid excuse to punch his brother in the face, when suddenly the thing he straddled was no longer his brother, but Fiddleford.

     Stan paused, against his better judgment, and his fist faltered mid-air. The shifter's new face looked frightened, its thin shoulders trembling. Stan's eyes widened as he tried to fight his protective instincts. However, his moment of hesitation is what the creature was banking on, and it wasted no time in regaining the upper-hand, quite literally, and wrapping its hands around Stanley's neck. The creature, though still holding Fiddleford's form, maintained its inhuman strength, backing Stan against a tree as its grip on his neck tightened,

     "Pathetic," it hissed in Fiddleford's drawling voice, a smirk tugging at its mouth, " absolutely pathetic. Too overwhelmed by emotion to protect yourself. Humans are weak, but you may be the weakest. And why? Because you _love_ him?" It laughed as Stan's vision became fuzzy and dark at the peripherals, his hands clawing desperately at the creature's. The real Fiddleford turned at the sound of his own laugh and saw the situation unfolding. His anger boiled, though it did not overpower his concern for Stan's wellbeing,

     "YOU LET GO OF HIM YOU ROTTEN, FACE-STEALING COWARD!" He let go of Ford momentarily, picking up a fist-sized rock and hurling it directly at the back of the creature's head. Thanks to many years of little-league baseball, the stone hit its target squarely in the center, which was enough to make the creature woozy for a few, much needed minutes. With the release of the hands from his neck, Stan slid down the tree, coughing and gasping for air while the creature struggled to regain its composure. He shook his head, trying to push away the blur of unconsciousness as he forced himself to stand. He stumbled towards the car, and Fiddleford rushed to meet him, catching his arm in order to steady him, "S-Stanley, are you alright?? Deep breaths, hon, deep breaths..." He said quietly, as Stan coughed and shook.

     "Get...th'safe..." Stan gasped, hoping that his message was clear. Luckily, Fiddleford nodded and ran back to the car, finding Ford already searching the vehicle for weapons, though his lack of coordination suggested that he was concussed, and likely still disoriented. Fiddleford ducked inside and pulled the safe from the passenger seat. Stan straightened his back, "Hey, ugly! You useless pile a' play-doh, let's see what ya really got!"

     The creature turned to face him, its fury looking out of place on Fiddleford's face. It charged him again, but Stan braced himself, taking the force of its body and responding with a swift kick to its shin, knocking it to the ground and holding it down as best as he could. The creature morphed one hand into a set of claws, ripping at Stanley wherever it could make contact. "I've got it, Fid--" he was cut off with a sickening thud. Fiddleford looked up from the lock of the safe, his stomach churning as he saw the fresh gush of blood coming from Stanley's head,

     "STANLEY!" He yelled, but he was sure that Stan only heard ringing. He opened the safe as Stan struggled to keep his hold on the creature. He wrapped it in a tight bear hug, stumbling towards the safe as best as he could. The shifter shrank down to the form of a squirrel in an attempt to escape his grasp, but the second that it did so, Stanley yelled,

     "NOW!" And Fiddleford threw his coat over-top the small creature. Stan scooped up the coat, swiftly throwing it into the safe, which Fiddleford slammed shut instantaneously.

     They both froze then, taking in the sudden calm that had overtaken the clearing. The only sound seemed to be their heaving breaths mingling with the rain, though there was a faint banging coming from within the safe that they elected to ignore. Stan laughed suddenly, relief washing over him as he shoved Fiddleford playfully. Fiddleford looked up at him in confusion, still shaking from the terrifying situation. He wondered how on Earth Stanley could be laughing, despite having just seconds earlier been grappling with the nightmarish creature. And yet there he was, snickering under his breath despite the blood soaking his shirt and dripping from his head. Fiddleford found a smile working its way onto his face, and he took Stan's hand in his own, looking up at him.

     Stan's laugh petered off as he looked down at their hands, a blush rising to his cheeks. He nearly pulled away out of shear reflex, but realized that the weight of Fiddleford's hand relaxed him, so he took his other hand as well. They stood like this for several moments before Stanford cleared his throat from over next to the car. Stan quickly dropped his hands and stepped back, glaring at his brother.

     "We should get back to my research outpost and get this shapeshifter locked up in a new containment unit. I'm thinking a cryogenic tube," Stanford said, gesturing widely, as if picturing the words appearing before him, "and after that, I should probably handle this concussion." He rubbed his head, his thoughts feeling jumbled and foggy in his skull. Stan rolled his eyes,

     "Concussion first, poindexter." Stan intervened, his voice still weak from the prolonged strangulation, "And you're not gonna need some fancy tube for the shapeshifter. We're gonna kill it."

     Stanford opened his mouth to argue with him, but paused when he took in Stan's injuries for the first time. The blood soaking through his previously white shirt was startling enough, but when coupled with the oozing coming from the side of his head, and the angry bruises forming on his throat, Ford felt a pang of fear run through his spine.

     "We'll discuss that later, Stanley, for now we have to get you to a hospital." Stan scoffed and headed towards the driver's side door, only to have his wrist grabbed by a six fingered hand, "Stanley this isn't a joke! Fiddleford, you'll have to drive. Stan, get in the back with me." Ford didn't wait for his brother's response before pulling him into the back seat.

     Stan had noticed that he had started to feel extremely light-headed, though he wasn't about to admit that to Ford. Instead, he complained about being treated like a baby, only to have Ford remind him who was the older twin (it was Ford), who had more experience studying injuries made by the supernatural (Ford again), and who had consistently gotten themselves hurt as a child (not Ford). Stan waved him off nonchalantly,

     "So how far is the hospital?" He grumbled, hand moving over his torso, trying to discover the extent of his injuries. From the front seat, Fiddleford answered,

     "It's about a twenty minute ride, Stanley... I'll do my best to make it shorter." He wasn't kidding, as far as Stan could tell. The engineer had pulled out of the clearing at top speeds, and was currently going at least eighty down the road. Stan was still taking inventory of his injuries, shuddering as his fingers delved into a particularly deep claw mark across his stomach. He had yet to discover the source of the sharp pain in his side, however, and decided to investigate there next.

     Sure enough, he felt something hard lodged in his side, just under his ribs. He grit his teeth and yanked it out of the wound, pulling it out from under his shirt. He immediately regretted this decision, as he felt a rush of blood ooze from the hole that it left. His stomach lurched and he quickly clamped a hand over the wound. Stan glanced at Ford and dropped the bloody piece in his lap,

     "Wassat?" He slurred, leaning his head back on the seat. Ford glanced quickly between Stan and the object before picking it up,

     "It seems to be a piece of the shapeshifter's claw--wait, was this inside of you, Stanley??" Stan nodded in response and Ford groaned, "You're not supposed to remove it, you'll lose more blood!"

     "Well how the hell was I supposed ta know?!"

     "It's basic knowledge, Stanley!"

     "Ok, so then stick it back in or somethin'!"

     "That's not how it works!"

     "Well I--!"

     "WILL YOU TWO QUIT THIS NONSENSE FOR A DARN SECOND?!" Fiddleford finally yelled, shutting the twins up in an instant. He was clutching the wheel firmly, foot pressed to the gas, and perfectly embodying the tension in the car. "Stanford, do your best to slow Stanley's bleeding, and Stanley, don't get yourself worked up or you'll just kill yourself faster! We're only ten minutes away, now work together!"

     They both did as they were told, Stan going uncharacteristically silent, and Ford balling up a rag from the floor of the car and pressing it to his brother's side. Three minutes passed like this before Stan began to feel exhausted, struggling to stay awake. Ford glanced up at him before clearing his throat, jarring Stan enough to open his eyes,

     "I wanted to thank you, Stan. You and Fiddleford, for saving me," his sentences came awkwardly, as he was used to helping Stan out of trouble, and having the roles reversed made him rather uncomfortable, but he managed to choke out as much as he could, "and I also wanted to say that you were pretty damn clever about the whole situation." Stan gave something just short of a grin, eyes half lidded,

     "Clever, huh?" Ford nodded and smirked,

     " _Damn_ clever." Stan let out a huff of a laugh,

     "Alpha twin material?" He asked, feeling a shiver run through his body. Ford rolled his eyes affectionately, pretending to give it some thought,

     "Well we may need a second opinion...what do you think, Fiddleford?"

     "Well I would certainly give him my vote." Fiddleford added calmly, despite his continued panic.

     "Very well, I'll trust my assistant, then. Yes, alpha twin material." Stan snickered,

     "Who needs a diploma when ya got that?" He mumbled, voice trailing off towards the end. Stanford swallowed,

     "Stan...? Stanley!" He continued to call his brother's name frantically, but was met with only silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh oh...


End file.
